When a rest day really isn’t

We had a race last weekend - the GA Veterans’ Triathlon in Cordele, GA.  It’s a great little sprint, except for the overabundance of gnats (cheap, easy protein if you want to put a positive spin on it), and about an hour from the house.  The course is flat and relatively easy to navigate.  All in all, it’s a great race for beginners. 

I have been training for this race (when don’t I?) although not nearly as hard as Joe has been.  But then, I don’t have an Ironman in four weeks.  My hamstring is finally healing so I’ve been slowly adding some speed work back into my runs.  I actually swam 3000 yards on Monday just to see if I could.  Joe was swimming in the lane with me at the base pool and that’s what he was swimming so I figured, why not.  That’s the longest swim I’ve ever done, even more than what I’ve done for my half-Ironman races.  Yay me!  I’ve been continuing my bike trainer rides, but feel like I’ve been losing ground.  I can’t hold the power/numbers that I’ve been able to before.  On outside rides, I can keep up with most of the folks I normally do, but I feel weak.  Hmmm.  Perhaps a bit of overtraining you say?  I’ll ponder that on my next ride.

Since the race was Saturday, I decided to take Friday as a pseudo rest day.  Like most days, I took Beau for a walk after I got the second shift, aka, Josie on the bus for school.  Yes, our kids are already back in school.  They actually started back on the first of August, significantly shortening our summer break.  Anyhoo, since I’ve been trying to cut down on my transition times, I figured I’d walk the dog in my running shoes, but without socks.  I’d broken out a new pair since my last race and wanted to be sure they were broken in enough.  I slathered my feet with Body Glide (a sports lubricant for all you non-tri peeps) and away we went. 

My feet felt fine for the first two miles and then, my heel started to hurt.  Sure enough, when I pulled my foot out of my shoe, I had a nice blister on my heel.  I had rubbed it so raw before it started to really hurt that the skin was just barely hanging on; the blister had long since burst.  I was still a half of a mile from home.  Uh-oh.  Not a great way to get ready for a tri that was going to be in a lake with all kinds of who knows, well, I didn’t want to think about it!  Walking hurt too much, but running wasn’t too bad.  My running shoes are designed for running on the balls of your feet (YAY, Newtons), something I already do when I run, but not when I walk.   Who knew it would make such a difference?

Back to my pink Newtons - the blue ones were no bueno!

I cleaned out the raw spot when I got home, slathered it with triple-antibiotic ointment and hoped for the best.  In the morning, I put a strip of moleskin on it, not knowing that moleskin is not waterproof.  D’oh!  I then put on socks and resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be adding a couple of extra seconds to my transition to put them on before heading out on the bike.  Bummer.

Many of our triathlon group, the Crazy Joes, raced with us.  I love when a bunch of us race together!  I truly enjoy the camaraderie, the smiles and hugs, the sharing of nerves and advice and smiles, and yes, even the good-natured ribbing.  In typical team mom/team cheerleader fashion, I even offered to drag a friend across the finish line, despite my lifting restrictions.  That’s what teammates do for one another.  At the end of the race, we joyfully welcomed a few new triathletes into the fold, something always worth celebrating!

Love when we get to race together!!!

Two thirds of the way through the swim, as the moleskin gently peeled off of my heel and floated away, I knew this wasn’t going to be my best race.  Ah well.  I did better than I expected.  I ended up third in my age group and in the middle of the pack for the entire race.  Joe wanted me to “push as hard as you can on the bike!”  I pushed, but not “as hard as I could” because I didn’t want to bonk on the run (non-tri people translation: fall apart, barf, cramp, all of the above).   I ran comfortably on the run, so again, I guess I didn’t push as hard as I should have.  Oh well.  My life is a series of seconds and thirds, so why mess with a good thing, right?  I’m okay with that, and besides, who wants the pressure of always having to defend one’s title?

Joe, on the other hand, rocked it!  He was 4^th overall and won the masters’ category (non-tri people translation: the old folks).  He then proceeded to put us all to shame by cycling the sixty plus miles home.  I repeat: he has an Ironman in four weeks and the rest of us don’t.  Oh yeah, and this was a “C” race for him.  Seriously – a “C” and he comes in fourth overall. 

My view as I left the tri to go have lunch with friends. :-)

While I didn’t plan any big races this year (it’s Joe’s year), I have several friends that did.  Always the team mom/team cheerleader, I have offered to go on training rides with several.  And that was why I got up early on Sunday.  I wasn’t about to do my usual Sunday twelve-mile run before church since the blister was still oozing, but biking didn’t hurt my heel.  Cori and Roo were riding forty miles.  My bike time was what really hurt me the most during the race, so I decided to add an extra ten miles riding up to the bike store and back.   Cori got necessary training in, Roo got to go on a nice easy ride (for him) with his lovely girlfriend, and I got to do some hill work.  A win-win for everyone!

This is Slow-mode for Beau!

Since I was ready to go a little early, I decided to take the dog outside to play a few rounds of fetch.  Beau loves the exercise and attention and I love watching him run.  Actually, he doesn’t just run, he gallops!  He even sounds like a horse when he charges across the yard at full tilt.  He’s so incredibly fast and fluid and beautiful when he runs.  It’s just so effortless for him.  But… he’s a sprinter!  After about six to ten ball tosses and gallops around the yard or a 2 mile run, he’s pooped… until the next round.  He is not an IronDog – not yet anyway.

It oozed for two days - ugh.

Anyway, I let Beau out and proceeded to follow him out.  And that’s when the patio door attacked!  We’ve got it on a spring closure, but I can’t quite get it to close just right.  Sunday morning, it closed just right – right on my ankle, slicing it open.  Fabulous!  While it wasn’t a large or deep gash, it was right by the already open blister.  Can you say, “ow”?!  Well, the ride must go on so I cleaned it out (I’m getting very good at cleaning out my injuries.), swathed it in gauze and headed out.  Thankfully, like the day before, it didn’t hurt too much to cycle so I was able to get in my fifty miles, even surprising myself by getting almost all the way up “the big hill” in my big chain ring (non-tri people translation: harder gears). 

By Sunday night, I was pooped!  I told myself I’d take a rest day on Monday.  When I was doing the EN Outseason, I really needed those rest days with all of the insane workouts I was doing.  Monday’s rest day was really just going to be so that I could let my ankle/heel, well, heal. 

I dutifully got the youngest on the bus and then took the dog for a short walk and as I walked, I thought.  I thought about why I dislike rest days so much.  I think the reason I dislike rest days so much is it means I have no excuse for not cleaning the house.  Somehow, workouts seem like a good excuse to not clean the house.  Not that I don’t clean my house; you know I do.  I just don’t like to!  I think it’s because I have a touch of ADHD.  I get too distracted when I clean and then wonder why the toilet still has toilet bowl cleaner in it four hours later and why the shower door is covered with a fine dusting of Barkeeper’s Friend.  But hey, I did find that pattern I was looking for.

After I got home from walking Beau, I cleaned the floors.  I folded laundry.  I put away laundry.  I cleaned up the kitchen.  I cleaned the toilets, sinks, and shower.  I was sweaty and I was antsy!  And so, I looked longingly at my bike and made a decision.  I’d just get on and ride for thirty minutes.  Thirty minutes became a full hour workout with intervals.  I rationalized that I needed to do this because I was going to take my bike in to get a small repair done and I might not get it back for the next day’s scheduled workout.  Uh-huh.  That’s what I told myself. 

So much for my rest day…

Where in the world is Dr. C?

A few weeks back, I found out that my favorite surgeon is no longer with his practice.  It’s all been very mysterious and the practice has been very secretive as to why he “left” and where he has gone.  I, along with several of my BC sisters, am irritated, to put it politely.  I know that several gals have been offered appointments with other surgeons in the practice and have flat out REFUSED.  I really need to make my quarterly follow-up with Dr. C, but I’m not even going to bother since I too would refuse to see anyone else. 

I am sure that the other surgeons in the practice are perfectly competent and may in fact be very nice people.  They, however, are NOT Dr. C.  They do not have the rapport that he has with me.  They do not know how my body reacts to surgery or how it heals.  They know from the office staff that I am a nut-job runner/triathlete, but they don’t understand my obsession the way Dr. C does.  

There are several theories floating around as to why he has “left” the practice.  No one has disputed the fact that he is an excellent surgeon.  Maybe he didn’t do his billing or paperwork properly and they were sick and tired of correcting him.  Maybe he saw his patients too much for the practice’s liking and caused it to lose too much money.  Many think that the other surgeons in the practice resented his rapport with all his groupies/patients.  While I doubt we’ll never know the real reason he is gone, I wish the practice would be a bit more forthcoming with information regarding his whereabouts.   I for one want to know! 

It makes me want to cry that he’s gone and no one will spill the beans where he is or why he left.  Dr. C is one of those rare surgeons that is extremely skilled, but also compassionate.  He always has a hug, a joke, a smile.  He is thorough and takes the time if you need it or want it.  He is passionate about what he does.  I asked him once why he specialized in breast surgery.  He responded simply, “Because I have a wife and three daughters.”  ‘Nuf said.   

I credit two men with “saving my life”.  One, of course, is Joe because he found the tumor.  Dr. C is the other one because he removed the tumor, the lymph nodes that it had invaded and all of the breast tissue that it could have wreaked further havoc on.  He treated me gently when I needed it, held my hand when I was scared, teased me when I was feeling well, or chewed me out when necessary.  Even when he chewed me out, I knew that he did it because he genuinely cared about me and my wellbeing. 

I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to see someone else for my care.  I wouldn’t trust them to not “screw things up” or to listen to me and take me seriously like Dr. C does.  While the other docs in the practice maybe just as skilled in general surgery, I highly doubt that they have Dr. C’s skill with boobs and the fragile women whose bodies they are attached to.  Thankfully, all of my surgeries are done for the next eighteen or so years until I need a trade-in for my Frankenboobs.  Still, I’m supposed to see Dr. C quarterly for lymphedema checks, general cancer checkups (aches/pains/weird symptoms), and my annual armpit/chest ultrasounds in lieu of a mammogram.  Because Dr. C has cut and stitched and removed significant portions of my body, he knows what’s normal or not.  And, while I know he can’t always be my surgeon, I’m not ready to cut the ties just yet.   He’s a bit like a security blanket to me and lots of other women.  If he says you’re okay, chances are very good that you really are okay.

I’m not the only one that feels that strongly about Dr. C.  My friend Tracy drives six hours from Florida to see Dr. C whenever she needs a check up.  She’s not ready to let go either.  If Dr. C starts his own practice and it’s not in the area, I will do the same thing.

Dr. C was never too sure about my
athletic endeavors, but tolerated me doing them.

 So, where in the world is Dr. C?  If anyone knows, please tell me.  I’m supposed to see him next month.  

Remission and other cancer terms

(Disclaimer: Please bear in mind that the opinions expressed here are mine and relative to me alone.  I do not intend to belittle or negate others feelings or opinions related to their own cancer diagnoses or identities.)

sur·vi·vor [ser-vahy-ver]

n.

1. a person or thing that survives.

2. Law. the one of two or more designated persons, as joint tenants or others having a joint interest, who outlives the other or others.

3. a person who continues to function or prosper in spite of opposition, hardship, or setbacks.

As many of you know, while I was going through treatment, I didn’t care for the word survivor when referring to myself.  I still don’t think that I survived cancer (cue dramatic music) since I never really felt like my life was hanging in the balance.  Perhaps I was and I’m still in denial.  I didn’t need a special label; I knew I would survive whatever I had thrown at me.  Someday I won’t, but for now, I’m too stubborn to not survive. J

I never felt sick or ill before I was officially diagnosed with cancer.  I looked normal, felt normal, acted normal well, normal for me anyway. I had no idea that my body was losing a battle with cancer until we found the lump.  Even then, I felt fine; I just had a pesky lump in my breast.  While that pesky lump spread its pestilence to my lymph nodes and possibly beyond, I was oblivious.  I didn’t know that I was going to have to survive anything.

war·ri·or  (wôr-r, wr-)

n.

1. One who is engaged in or experienced in battle.

2. One who is engaged aggressively or energetically in an activity, cause, or conflict

While I was trying to rid my body of the disease that has pervaded our lives for almost the past three years, I did consider myself a warrior.  A warrior is someone who fights for a cause.  My family, my medical team and I were fighting to get the cancer out of my body.  My cause was my family.  I was not “surviving”; I was too busy fighting and living.  I still am.  Yes, it is a simple semantic difference, between the words survivor and warrior, but one that I differentiate when talking about myself.

While going through treatment, I was not only a warrior but a patient as well.  As much as I don’t like it, I still am and continue to be a “cancer patient” for the next seven years despite the fact that I am now in remission.

re·mis·sion  (r-mshn)

n.

1.                  a. The act of remitting.

b. A condition or period in which something is remitted.

2. A lessening of intensity or degree; abatement.

3.                  a. Medicine Abatement or subsiding of the symptoms of a disease.

b. The period during which the symptoms of a disease abate or subside.

4.                  a. Release, as from a debt, penalty, or obligation.

b. Forgiveness; pardon.

Remission is a wonderful word to a cancer patient.  Every additional year of remission is special; it’s one year further away from when one was sick.  And, it generally means that your likelihood of developing the disease again is lessened a little more. 

Because of the “advanced stage” of my disease at diagnosis and my age at diagnosis, the doctor’s will continue to monitor me for another seven years.  They do with everyone actually, but they are especially keen on keeping close tabs on me, not just because of my cancer staging and age, but because, after three years, they know how strong-willed and independent I am.  They want to make sure that nothing goes unchecked.

I’m a good girl and dutifully go in for my check-ups with my oncologist and my surgeon when they tell me to.  Most of the time, I feel fine; I feel “normal”.  I always hesitate to mention any little ache or pain to them.  It always turns out to be nothing or something very minor, not even related to my cancer diagnosis.  I should feel so loved by those family and friends that have ratted me out to my docs when I hold things back.  Instead, I feel stressed and annoyed that people are making such a fuss over things that are invariably minor in the grand scheme of things.  It bothers me that valuable resources are being wasted on me when there are others that truly have a need of all the tests that I’ve been put through for my little aches and pains since my cancer diagnosis. 

In the past four months I have been poked and prodded and scanned more than I ever was while going through cancer treatment.  I have had a full cardiac work-up, blood work, chest x-ray, bone scan, CT scan and MRI of my brain.  You know what they found?  I was diagnosed with reflux and sinusitis.  Like I told them, it was nothing major.  All that money and time… :-/

Now, I can hear the collective chastising: How could you say such things?  It’s because we love you and worry about you!  We just want to make sure you stick around for a good long time!  I know which of you I’ll probably get the emails from telling me exactly why it was important to go through all those silly tests.  I stand by my opinion though; it’s a waste of valuable resources.  I knew with each minor complaint that it was no big deal.  LOTS of people have reflux and sinusitis. 

I know my body and I know when something is wrong with it.  I wish other people would just trust me in that regard.  I know you all care about me but I really don’t like to worry people needlessly.  If it’s important, I’ll letcha know.  Honest.

** Postscript: I made it through two different courses of hardcore antibiotics to get rid of the reflux and my sinus infection.  While on the antibiotics I was true to form; I had many of the usual side effects (nausea, vomiting, headaches) and the less common side effects – numbness in my arm and hand and extreme fatigue.  The good news is that the reflux and my headaches are almost completely gone and my blurred vision is gone completely.

Woof, woof, woof… Translation: Joe finally caved!

I know that I am very tardy in blogging.  Life has been moving at the speed of, well, Matchette so you know what that means -- I’ve been busy!

Here’s a brief recap:  The Little Mermaid, Jr. was a HUGE success!  Jamie nailed his performance as Flotsom, one of Ursula’s evil pet eels.  We (the family) spent most of the first weekend in May at the theater helping out backstage or, in Jamie’s case, on-stage.  Each night I took home at least an hour’s worth of mending.  Kids being kids, they were hard on their costumes, but boy, oh boy did they look great! :0) I figured out that I personally made over thirty costumes and helped with about thirty more. 

Jetsom, Ursula and Flotsom -
The boys costumes were the hardest to design!

Everyone said they could see Joe's shiny head on stage so we had to help him out a bit.

The main cast - I loved making Scuttle, Sebastian and Flounder's!

Ready for the kids.  It was organized chaos backstage!

Here's a link for one of my favorite scenes from the show.  Jamie and his buddy Spencer really hammed it up! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOVyGb3TLAI&feature=youtu.be

The second weekend in May, one of my BFFs and our sweet, funny, and lovely Goddaughter came out from Las Vegas for Josie’s First Communion.  Alyson and Josie picked up right where they left off in Hawaii, as did Carolyn and I.   I needed some serious stress relief and spending the weekend with an old, dear friend is the perfect remedy!  It was a laugh until your sides and head hurt kind of weekend with some pretty dresses and a lovely church service thrown in for good measure.  BTW, my Josie girl did an awesome job doing a reading during the service!

Our  beautiful daughter and our beautiful Goddaughter

Jamie and Mic were impromptu altar-servers for Josie's First Communion Mass.

She was so nervous about "doing it right".

Josie and her beloved Godmother being posers.

And then, there were the end of the school year activities.  HOLY COW!  I felt like a pinball, bouncing from one school/ceremony/party to the next!  All the kids finished out the year well, but Jamie took the prize for most end of the school year awards.  Even his principal jokingly referred to his 5^th grade graduation ceremony as “the James Matchette Show”. 

Josie just had another birthday and, as usual, the first thing on her list of desired gifts was “a Golden Retriever puppy”.  When I relayed this information yet again to Joe, he casually said, “Okay.”  WHAT?!  I felt his forehead for a fever.  This is the man who has been giving us the Heisman for the past two and a half years whenever the subject of a dog came up.  I was at a race on my birthday and met a sweet doggy that needed a home and Joe said no – on my birthday!  When he said, “Okay” I figured he was just delirious from the heat and let it go.  We had agreed, no dog until we moved to Colorado and had the space for a big dog to run. 

In addition to a dog, Josie wanted a "purple mermaid tail cake".
It's not up to Lynn's caliber, but the girls didn't mind.

And then the kids went to tennis camp for a week…

The kids did a one-hour each day tennis camp for the first week of summer break.  On the very last day, a woman showed up with what looked like an adolescent Golden Retriever mix on a harness.  The dog seemed well behaved so when the kids asked if they could go pet him, I said yes.  When they all clamored back into the car, Josie announced that the dog was really sweet (all dogs are sweet to her) and that he neeeeeeeded a home, Mom.  Since I have always been on the “Let’s get a dog bandwagon”, I asked the kids if they would like me to go talk to the owner.  ALL three (even Michelle who has been decidedly on Joe’s side) said, “YES!”

By this point, kids from the tennis camp were swarming all over the dog.  He was so obviously over-stimulated and was not minding the owner whatsoever.  Despite the overstimulation, I could tell that he was very good-natured.  Big shocker there considering he looked to be part Golden, right?  The woman admitted that neither she nor her husband had ever had a dog and they had come to realize that the dog was a lot more than they could handle.  The dog, named “Chief”, was actually about two and a half years old, was a Golden Retriever and Australian Shepherd mix, and they were his third family.   He’d been bounced from his original family to animal control to another family and then to his current family.  Somewhere along the way, there were legal proceedings surrounding this poor pup, but they didn’t know what specifically. 

Our first look 

My number one question was if “Chief” had any experience with cats.  The woman, Kelli, said that they actually had a kitten and that the dog was really good with her.  So, I snapped a couple of pix and texted Joe.  He gave his consent for a doggy trial, Kelli and I exchanged numbers and we agreed to meet for the doggy handoff on Sunday.  When I got in the car, all three kids were excited, but Jamie was the most.  He has that quiet way about him and I could tell that something about this dog caught his attention, just like it had mine.  

The rest of the weekend, I pondered his name and Jamie asked how many hours it was until we could go and get Chief.  I was not at all crazy about the name “Chief”; it just didn’t sit well with me.  Like human babies, I think a pet’s name has to suit him.  I never changed Louie’s name because, well, it just suited him.  My other pets’ names have all just “popped into my head” and they were the right ones for those pets. Suddenly on Saturday night, Chief’s new name popped into my head – “Beauregard” and we would call him “Beau”.  That is, if Louie got along with him.  We figured Murphy wouldn’t take kindly to any dog, cat, turtle, fish, baby or even an alien that we brought into the house so we weren’t too fussed about her, but our Louie was the one to impress.

Chief/Beau happily got into our car and went home with us on Sunday, much to the dismay of one of his young masters.  I felt horrible driving away watching that little boy turn into his dad for a comforting hug, but Kelli told me later that it was the right thing for them and for us.  She had been trying to find a new home for Chief/Beau on Craigslist for weeks with no bites, so to speak.  Then, the night before we met, she prayed that she would find him a forever family.  Lo and behold, there we were on Friday at tennis camp.  I, in turn, thanked her for all the hard work that she and her family had put into Chief/Beau in the six months that they had had him!

So, Chief/Beau came to our house, tugging and biting on his leash and stealing any and every shoe left within a five-mile radius, but gung ho for this new adventure.  Louie took one look at him, puffed himself up as big as he could, hissed, smacked Chief/Beau HARD upside the head several times and then retreated under our bed until THAT interloper was sent AWAY, or at least crated for the night.  By the next day, Louie was coming out, curious to see what this large misbehaving creature was, so I knew we’d be okay.  Louie knew that HE was higher on the food chain tha some unruly upstart of a dog!

Here's a link that shows you just who really IS in charge -

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Lw-_Zi0k_g&feature=youtu.be

Chief did not respond consistently to his name or to any command for that matter on the first day.  Jamie and I took him for a walk/drag-fest that afternoon.  We, of course, were the ones getting dragged.  Oh boy, did we have a lot of work to do!  On a chance, I called Chief “Beau” and, amazingly, he responded like it was his name all along.  Well, that was easy.  “Beau” he was immediately rechristened.  The kids weren’t too keen on the name “Beauregard”, but I explained to them that it meant “handsome/good look” and that since he was such a handsome dog (He is.) and that he was getting a “new and good look” at life, his name was rather fitting.  Kids being kids, they didn’t agree, but couldn’t come up with a better name.  Besides, Beau knew that “Beau” was supposed to be his name even if they didn’t.  :0) As a consolation, I told the kids they could give Beau his middle name.  After several days of nothing, Josie threw out the name “Scout” as Joe and Jamie were heading out to a Boy Scout meeting.  It stuck, and we all agreed “Scout” was a very fitting name since scouting is such a big part of our lives at this point. 

So there you have it. 

We would like to formally introduce: 

Beauregard Scout Matchette, aka, “Beau”.

DOB: ~ December 15, 2010.

Our boy Beau!

Beau has been with us a week now and he’s settled in quite nicely.  After the first drag-fest, I got down to business with training.  Beau and I have training time everyday.  Beau is a wonderfully sweet pup, but he has some bad habits/manners.  

We work on different skills each day, but a lot of it is still leash training and trying to get him to “come” and “sit” consistently.  He is easily distracted and has a bit of a stubborn streak.  Also, you can tell that he has herding dog genes since he tries to nip at heels.

I think he’s come a long way in just a week, but he still has a long way to go.  I feel badly for Beau, not knowing what his life was like before.  I told the kids that he’s like a toddler that’s never had any guidance; he doesn’t understand boundaries or rules.  Beau knows that I’m alpha/mom, but he still has a hard time understanding that he has to listen to the kids as well.  I think he doesn’t quite know what to make of Joe.  While he thinks it’s fun to chase Louie, he knows that Louie will wallop him (and does!) if Louie gets too annoyed.  We’ve hardly seen Murphy, which is just fine with Joe and me.  Michelle says that she’s been hand-feeding Murphy in her room each day.  I doubt that will continue when she goes away to college, so Murphy will just have to come to terms with Beau’s presence.

A boy and his dog - what could be better?!

He's not a purebred, but we don't mind!

Dog is my co-pilot.  

We even got him his own pool.

It’s a bit strange having a dog again after almost seventeen years without one.  Cats are so easy; dogs, not so much.  The logistics that go along with caring for a dog have tripped me up a couple of times, but overall, I’m enjoying having a dog again.  It’s comforting to have a dog put his head in your lap at the end of the day or gently nose your hand for some attention (when he’s not stealing shoes to get one’s attention).  He’s absolutely beautiful to watch bounding and leaping (seriously) across the yard as he rushes to chase his toys or greet the dogs on either side of the house.  Overall, I think, like Louie, Beau was just meant for our family. 

Now, you’ll have to excuse me.  It’s time to feed the dog. 

Happy tails!

Gen =)

Time to walk the dog...

EN Outseason Week 14, aka “Final Test Week”

This was it.  It was the week to determine if the proof was in the pudding or not.  Had all the training been for a good cause?  Was I faster, stronger, better?  Was I going to be able to porpoise to the front of the pack in a single dive?  Burn rubber as I tore it up on the hills?  Actually finally be able to keep up with Coach Joe during a training run?  ACK!!!!!!! 

The good news was that I knew what to expect.  The bad news was that I knew what to expect.  It’s like giving birth a second or third time.  You are somewhat prepared for the pain, fatigue and everything else, but that doesn’t make it any better.  It’s times like this that you have to do some real soul searching to remember exactly why we do this to our bodies, our psyches, our families and ourselves.  Why exactly?  Oh yeah, fun and fitness.  J/K…  For me it really is for both of those reasons, but also because it reminds me that I’m alive and I need to stay healthy for Crazy Coach Joe and our three little (well, not so little anymore) Crazy Joe Juniors.  And yes, like most of us, because I really love to eat!

As luck would have it, things got a bit topsy-turvy during this test week.  Well, they’ve been a bit crazy for the past couple of weeks with Easter and spring break. Let me explain about this week -- Back in February, I volunteered to help with costuming for Jamie’s school’s spring musical.  His school is putting on “The Little Mermaid, Jr.”   The music director at his school is amazing and is a “go big or go home” kind of guy.  He technically “has” a budget, but doesn’t really understand the idea of buying on sale and with coupons with big-ticket items like fabric.  Fabric for a colorful undersea adventure ain’t cheap! 

Since I sew and I knew that the costumes were going to eat up a huge chunk of his budget, I offered to help.  I went to the fabric store and purchased several patterns (on sale) that I thought might suffice for a few of the main characters.  He loved them, but also showed me a few pictures that he had found on-line.  He had much more faith in my sewing skills than I did!  I made some suggestions, secretly thinking there was no way I could accomplish what he wanted!  I started purchasing fabric (on sale) and making costumes.  That was in March.  Since then, our dining room has been taken over by fabric and sewing machines.  If I’m not riding my bike, running, sleeping or cooking, I’m sewing!  Jamie has had to try on more costumes than I think he has in his entire trick or treating career.  He’s been a good sport, but is definitely glad he’s not wearing a pink sequined mermaid tail.  Jamie, my all-boy, is going to be Flotsom – one of Ursula’s wicked eels.  Mr. Dudley Doright is all about being a nasty, I think because he’s such a good kid normally.  And, who doesn’t like to be a bit naughty every once and while?

Sea turtle costume made by Joe

Mersister costume

King Triton

Flounder

Merman costume

Seagull costume

Sebastian

But, how does this pertain to my training?  Time is moving forward and I am running out of time to finish all of the requested costumes!  I’ve asked for help and have gotten some, but apparently not enough moms (or dads) know how to sew or how to sew well.  I’m thankful for the friends who have stepped up as they have relieved some of my stress.  I am learning to delegate and to prioritize and just say, “No, we can’t do that,” to the director.  I’m hustling to get through workouts to then sit down at the sewing machine for hours on end.  Can you say, “Oooooh!  My aching back!”?

My one workday a week has also been going through a shift as well.  I had been working on Mondays since it was a rest day (Halleluiah!), but have had to transition to Tuesdays since there were too many of us there on Mondays.  That means I have to get up early to knock out my workout before work.  As much as I don’t like four-thirty in the morning, I am sadly getting used to this.  You Ironman crazies do this regularly I know, but for we lowly age-groupers, that’s a lot of dedication.  I already get up at four-thirty on Sundays to get my long runs in before church.  The thought of getting up an additional day so dang early was not appealing, but such is life.  As I’ve said before, I’m not a big fan of working out after work when the kids are home and need my attention.  Plus, the idea of taking two showers each day seems excessive to me.  Not that spending ridiculous amounts of money on running shoes, clothes and powdered/gel nutrition isn’t, but hey, it’s all about perspective. :0)

Oddly, getting up at four-thirty hasn’t been too troublesome.  My brain knows that I have stuff to get done and I think that’s why I can get out of bed without too much mental wrestling.  It doesn’t help though when I leave our nice cozy bed that Joe and Louie nestle into the spot that I have just vacated. 

The bike test was, as usual, awful!  I don’t think that I pushed myself as hard as I have for the past two tests; my wheezing incident after the last one is still pretty vivid in my memory.  I tried to keep my power right at my already pre-established threshold.  I was tired and I just didn’t have the mental oomph to push myself any harder.  A small part of me was disappointed in myself, but the rest of my GSF (“give a $&^# factor) could have cared less.  I felt like I do a couple of weeks before a big race and I’m sick and tired of training. 

Beautiful music

Next up was the run test.  Coach Joe wanted me to do a 5K test instead of a half-marathon or 10K test since most of what I do is short course.  I had done a 10K last week anyway.  Alas, I haaddddd to go to Asheville with my Miami Mommy Friends for the weekend.  I was NOT down with doing a 5K test at 4000 feet when all of my training had been on the treadmill at a 2% grade.  Not to mention that I was already short of breath at my normal altitude.  What to do?  Coach Joe told me to wait a week or two and then find a local 5K to race.  Shucks!  You mean I have to forgo my run test to hang out with my friends in a cabin in the mountains with a stream running through the property.  Darn. :-)

My Miami running buddy, Melissa

I did run twice while I was in North Carolina – once with my friend Melissa (and consequently the only one still in Miami) and once solo.  While I spent the entire weekend feeling slightly winded, poor Melissa was totally knocked for a loop.  We ran at her pace – five minutes on, one minute off.  Before the first interval was over, she was breathing hard and slowing down.  I, on the other hand, felt great for me.  “This is what it’s like for Joe when he runs with me,” I thought.  Wow!  We ended up running only three miles, but I was raring to go afterwards, once I caught my breath of course. 

On Sunday, I dutifully got up at o’ungodly to try to get a medium-length run in before we headed home.  I forgot to take into consideration that we were surrounded by mountains and that it takes a bit longer to get light.  By the time it was light enough for my comfort level, I bagged the idea of running six-eight miles and settled on four.  Having not run very much outside nor in the mountains, I was pleased with my pace.  I was not prepared for the cool mornings, having left my hat and gloves at home.  Thankfully, I had a long-sleeved tech shirt that I wore over my short-sleeved one and then removed after about a half of a mile when I warmed up.  I ended up wrapping my hands in the shirt, but they were still pretty stiff and cold when I was done.  I didn’t realize just how cold they were until I hopped into the shower.  The water felt scalding hot on the rest of my body, but the water that hit my hands and face felt cold.

After a six hour journey I was home again, home again, jigeddy jig and onto my trusty treadmill.  Eight miles later, my psyche felt better.  I’ve been running twelve miles every Sunday to keep my legs used to it (Don’t’ judge - it’s a mental game with me), but last week was rest day and the day before I’d only run that 10K.

So, quick assessment of the Outseason Plan –

Do I think it helped make me faster? 

YES!

Would I do it again? 

YES!

            Why? 

Because (yes, I’m starting this sentence with a clause) I know that I have gotten faster and stronger.  It also taught me how to appreciate intervals and hard work.  Not that I wasn’t a hard worker before, just not a hard worker when it came to biking workouts.  Don’t get me wrong; I still do not like the hard work.  I have taken to chewing on my shirt when the intervals get hard to keep me from barfing or yelling.  I still curse Coach Joe out during some of my tougher workouts for getting me started on this insanity, but I can appreciate the work for what it is and what it yields.

What I liked best? 

The no-brainer routine of the weekly workouts – no changes in what to do each day other than the numbers – Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday- run, etc.  I like routine – A LOT!  I did have to write out my intervals, but my short-term memory is so bad that’s nothing new.

I also learned to really really really appreciate my rest days.  Before the OS, I would get so antsy on my rest days.  I needed a task, preferably not housework, but even that would suffice.  During the OS, I relished acting like “normal” people that get up and put regular clothes on in the morning instead of spandex.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t employ the sleeping in tactic of weekend rest days as the teenager needed a little regular prodding get out of bed for school on Mondays and Fridays.

            What I liked least?

That now I don’t know what to do with myself.  I think that I’ll just repeat the VO2 workouts until my next race to keep my newly developed skills fresh. 

Wait!  Did I really just type what I think I did?  WHOA!  I remember being petrified of those workouts.  Now those workouts are still challenging but there is comfort in the routine of them. I still haven’t

decided on any races, but I’ll probably do the ones I do every year.  I’d really like to do an Olympic distance this year since I have never done one and methinks I just might like that distance.  I’m not a good sprinter, despite the multitude of dust collectors on my dresser.  Coach Joe and I are looking to see what might fit in my schedule.  And, as much as I said last season that I wouldn’t do a half-Ironman this year, I feel so good and strong that I just might consider doing one of those as well.  Oh my God!  I’d better stop typing lest I get it into my head to maybe try a full IM…  NAH!!!!!!

Even Louie enjoys my rest days